


You Won't Get Everything You Wanted

by mariuspondmercy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:06:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuspondmercy/pseuds/mariuspondmercy
Summary: When Courfeyrac, a mediocre male model, went to his agency's New Year's Eve party, he never expected to meet his favourite designer of all people.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This was a prompt on tumblr and I love the pairing so much that I figured I might as well cross-post it here. Set in the Model & Fashion Designer AU which has been in my mind forever and gets sometimes worked into stories but which has not been developed as a proper story yet.

Courfeyrac sipped at his champagne, eyes scanning the crowd. No one familiar. He’d only gone to this New Year’s Eve party because his agent had advised him to. Meet other models, some designers, maybe it’ll further his career. But the tacky, yet expensive decorations, the flowing drinks and mediocre food didn’t leave Courfeyrac in high spirits.

The year hadn’t been that great, on a personal nor on a professional level. He’d gotten a bug right at the beginning of the year, probably from the photo shoot in Taiwan. He’d lost a lot of weight, then his contract with the modelling agency, then his girlfriend - all in the span of two and a half months. He hadn’t been a well-established model by then (still wasn’t), so finding a new agency had proved to be difficult. A photographer friend of his, Grantaire, had taken him in after he’d lost his flat. With half the year over, Courfeyrac had found himself jobless, nearly friendless, a little hopeless, still recovering from his illness, and sleeping on a pull-out in a crappy New York apartment. There had been moments he’d wanted to crumble up his so-called model career and go back to his journalism course at university. Just… without money? He’d gone into amateur acting again, working the odd modelling job here and there but otherwise fulfilled his duty as an employee at Target. At some point he’d resigned himself to his fate. But Grantaire had helped him keep up hope, coaxing him through difficult shifts and exhausting nights, getting him a small job here and there through his connections. He’d ended up getting a contract at the same agency Enjolras and Combeferre were signed under - two good friends of Grantaire whom Courfeyrac had immediately lost his heart to. There had been a few flings, some flirting, some sex - noting that could’ve filled the void left behind by his ex. More than once, Courfeyrac had considered going back home, even though he wasn’t sure where Home was anymore. Was it France, where he had grown up? Or the Philippines, where his mother was from and had gone back to after all the children had taken flight?

Now, with Enjolras and Grantaire on a photo shoot in Australia, and with Combeferre on a higher end New Year’s Eve party in Milan, Courfeyrac was stuck at this pretentious event all alone.

Three flutes of champagne into the party, a murmur went through the attendees. Courfeyrac craned his neck to see what the commotion was all about. In the middle of the room stood one Jean Prouvaire, up and coming fashion designer. Courfeyrac adored the clothes! They were colourful, fun, individual, affordable and a perfect mix of haute couture and chain store fashion. He’d never had the chance to try out for any of their shows, as Courfeyrac had been ill when the casting call had come for the summer collection. With the winter collection, Courfeyrac had not been able to fly to Paris for the casting. Maybe this spring. He longed to work with Prouvaire. Not only because the designer was quite a sight themselves, but also because they always poured money, time and effort into important causes, spoke out against problems inside the fashion industry and always cast models of all sizes, ages, genders and ethnicities. Apparently Grantaire had worked with them for their very first collection three years ago. But Courfeyrac wasn’t sure if they were acquaintances, friends, or long forgotten.

He considered going over and introducing himself, especially since he figured it might be fun for a designer to see their own clothes on someone else (Combeferre, Enjolras and Grantaire had gotten Courfeyrac the gorgeous yellow and purple three-piece-suit from Prouvaire’s spring collection which he had eyed ever since it had been published) but seeing as most of the other models did the same, he rather stayed back.

Courfeyrac pulled out his phone, quickly shooting a text to his friends about being at the same party as Jean Prouvaire. It was met with silence, thanks to work and time zones. Well. Maybe there would be another opportunity to talk to them. To be honest, Courfeyrac was a little star-struck anyway. Still, his excitement had to be shared, so he tweeted about being at the same party as Jean Prouvaire - without tagging them, though. That would be too embarrassing. Switching over to Instagram, he read through the comments on the selfie he posted and replied to a few of them. He got a little lost on the internet, even though he knew he should talk to the others and build connections. With a deep sigh, Courfeyrac resolved himself to looking at one more post before he’d go back to being his usual self, not the mopey version he showed at the party. It was just that he missed his friends. He’d rather be at home, curled up on his bed, than at the party.

“This place is giving me the creeps,” a soft voice next to him startled Courfeyrac out of his thoughts.

“Why’s that?” He replied automatically, only then looking up from his phone.

When he saw himself faced with Jean Prouvaire, he gasped a little. Shit. Not a very glamorous first meeting.

“It’s all so fake,” Prouvaire continued on, as if Courfeyrac’s world hadn’t just shifted. “There’s also no real food. Just… healthy snacks with dips. And the punch tastes appalling. The decoration is tacky, yet expensive…”

“I know!” Courfeyrac said. “You’d think they’d invest the money properly. For a better lighting atmosphere or a DJ who’s actually good.”

Next to him, Prouvaire hummed. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Love to, but my agent said I have to build relationships and make connections.”

“And I’m not someone with whom you should build a relationship?” The innocent, yet slightly predatory smile flipped Courfeyrac’s stomach upside-down. “And all that while you’re wearing my collection. Which, may I just say, suits you incredibly well! Makes me wonder why you never came to castings for my shows or photo shoots… but you don’t have to answer that!”

“I was unfortunately indisposed whenever there was a casting call. And my previous agent didn’t seem it fit for my image.”

“Your agent now does?”

Courfeyrac snorted. “God, no! He wants to continue with the image I had before. I personally love your clothes. They’re sunny and funny and charming and mismatched and still so stylish! But we’re trying to establish a more… androgynous, haute couture look. Even getting my hair cut in the New Year.”

“No!” They gasp in shock. “No no no no, not the hair! It’s gorgeous! That would be a travesty!” Prouvaire gently tucked on a curl.

“I think they want to make me into someone like Enjolras but different? Oh, you probably don’t…”

“Shush, of course I know Enjolras. Ah, I think I understand. He’s the aloof, unreachable, androgynous angel and you’re his devil counterpart? Warm, charming, a lover of many a thing and many a woman?”

“And man. And other genders, really. That’s exactly the image, yes.”

“Hmmmm…” They tapped a finger against their bottom lip. “Let’s leave. We can have more fun somewhere else. You can tell your agent that you’ve build a good and career-rewarding relationship.”

“Are you proposing to me, Monsieur… Madame? Oh, fuck French. Wait a second.” Courfeyrac cocked his head to the side. “You talked French to me!”

Prouvaire mirrored his stand. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re both from France… and, just Jehan is alright, please.”

“Yes, yes, I know we’re from France but how do you know we’re from France?”

“Oh, I see!” Jehan’s eyes lit up. “If I promise to tell you, will you finally leave this dull party with me? I can offer better food, better company, better alcohol and a better view.”

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to leave?”

“Definitely. We designers are allowed to be a bit whacky and irresponsible.” They grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand and gently led him out of the main room to retrieve their coats.

Only a few minutes later, Courfeyrac found himself in a taxi on his way to a bigger party.

“Okay, now I want the answer. How did you know I’m French?”

“Do you really think I haven’t noticed you? Granted, it was after you fainted during your run at the New York Fashion Week this year, but then I looked you up. There’s not much on you, which is a shame. I am truly sorry your career took such a turn at the beginning of this year. It’s so unfortunate to get sick. Are you still recovering?”

“Uhm… I’m mostly fine now, just sometimes out of breath quickly. And I’m trying to get my body back to where it was before. More defined muscles, less… whatever this is now. By summer, I gotta be back, so I can get shoots for summer clothes and bathing suits and all.”

“I’m certain you’ll look even more gorgeous come summer. We’re there already.” Jehan paid and tipped the driver before leading Courfeyrac to a modern apartment complex. “Another party I was invited to. Far more high end, far more people for you to meet. Connect, build relationships, come find me again before midnight.” Jehan winked at them.

They entered a code to access the elevator, leaving it again on the top floor. The roof top party could be heard from outside already and by now Courfeyrac was keen to join. He was a party person, he loved going out, dancing, making out with people. Granted, it had been different the last few years, with his girlfriend at his side. But even then he’s had a few hot make out sessions with her in a club.

With a beam, Jehan turned towards him. “High end models, photographers, designers. So keen on it! Are you ready to party?”

“I am! But… why did you bring me here? I’m really grateful, don’t get me wrong! But I just don’t understand it, I suppose…”

“I told you I’ve noticed you,” Jehan smiled, “and I’d like to help you get back on track. You have an energy that’s incomparable, petit étoile. We need more of your sunshine and I’m still hoping you’ll try out for my collection one day. You’re drop dead gorgeous and seeing you in my clothes is one of the biggest compliments I could get. Feels like I made them just for you! But I know that I’m not the biggest fish you can get. So, go out, enjoy yourself, make connections but do find me before midnight, yes? Leaves you an hour, and then the rest of the night afterwards.”

Courfeyrac blushed deeply and nodded. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Come to a casting, try out to be the face of my new spring collection. How about that?”

“I can do that,” Courfeyrac beamed.

He quickly hugged Jehan in the spur of the moment, overflowing with happiness and giddiness. Courfeyrac weaved his way into the party, easily striking up conversations with some of the big names in the business. He couldn’t wait to tell his friends about the night! Sure, he’d probably get in trouble with his agent, as he had been asked to go to their party, but fuck that! This wasn’t only more fun but also furthered his career more than the other party would have. He was heavily flirting with the Tom Tailor underwear model from last season when the commotion around him alerted Courfeyrac to the fact that it was nearly midnight. He excused himself with a kiss to the cheek and quickly sought out Jehan, as promised.

“Cosmopolitan for both of us,” Courfeyrac smiled as he slipped around Jehan to claim his place at their side. “Saw you drinking one earlier so I figured you like it.”

Jehan hummed thoughtfully and grabbed the glass. “I do indeed, thank you. Any New Year Resolutions?”

“Be happy with what I’ve been given. Accept, but never give up. I won’t get everything I want, but I will never be defeated. You?”

“Be more honest.”

They smiled at Courfeyrac, a full-on beam which made Courfeyrac’s heart flip-flop.

“To loving yourself and being more honest,” Courfeyrac toasted.

“To defeating your demons and trusting the truth,” Jehan nodded, clinking their glasses together before they took a sip. “I’m gonna start being honest, even though we have a minute left still: I went to that crappy party to seek you out. I’ve really had my eye on you ever since you fainted, followed your career, and hoped against hope that you’d come to a casting of mine. I would kill to get my hands into that hair of yours. Seeing you tonight in one of my designs is just… it took my breath away.”

“… you what now?”

“That was too much and now you find me creepy, right?”

“No I’m…”

Courfeyrac sighed and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the chorus around him counted down already. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

When the cheers erupted, Courfeyrac pulled Jehan in to kiss them fiercely. Jehan dropped their glass, winding their arms around Courfeyrac’s shoulders to deepen the kiss. When they broke apart, both were panting a little.

“I’ve had the biggest admiration for your fashion ever since you published your first collection,” Courfeyrac mumbled, “and the biggest crush on you thanks to interviews.”

Jehan grinned and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “They’ll say it’s unfair that I’m pushing my boyfriend’s career by having him be the face for my next collection.”

“But do we care about what they say?”

“Fuck no.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually managed to write a second chapter?

Courfeyrac stretched languidly on the sofa, cocktail in hand. “Enjolras,” he called out.

“Yes?” Enjolras appeared in the doorway, raising one eyebrow at the sight of his friend. “Why are you dressed in only a silk robe?”

“Because it feels nice on my skin and I just shaved my legs, so it feels extra nice.” Courfeyrac stuck one of his legs high in the air, making Enjolras groan and cover his eyes.

“That’s it, I’m calling Grantaire! He can deal with you.”

“Aw, honey, you don’t mean that.”

Enjolras sighed. “No, no I really don’t mean that.” He looked at Courfeyrac again and gently poked his foot. “Scoot over.”

Courfeyrac shifted, making enough space for Enjolras on the sofa. As soon as his friend had sat down, Courfeyrac leaned back against him. Enjolras’ hand found its way into Courfeyrac’s hair, gently twirling the strands around his finger.   
  
They were in Miami for a photo shoot, in mid-January. It had rained throughout the night, the air was stiff and heavy and humid. Without aircon, the room was just as stifling. Their hotel room was nothing special, as they were nothing special. Not yet, at least. Enjolras was on his way to being the next super star at model heaven - if there was such a thing. Surely he’d soon leave the agency, especially now that this thing with Grantaire was becoming a more solid thing. Grantaire was established as a photographer, Courfeyrac was sure he’d help his (soon-to-be) boyfriend to more jobs. To his own surprise, Courfeyrac wasn’t bitter or angry. He was happy for his friends, very much so.

“Should you be drinking?” Enjolras asked, gently tugging on Courfeyrac’s curls.

“It’s fresh grapefruit and orange juice, no alcohol. It just looks fancy and I like it.”

Enjolras hummed softly. “I’m looking forward to tonight. It’s our first shoot together and I’m really looking forward to working with you. I’ve heard you’re pretty good.”

“I’ve heard you’re pretty,” Courfeyrac grinned.

Laughing, Enjolras hit him over the head softly. “So I’ve been told, yes! But, uhm…” He cleared his throat. “Grantaire and I have been talking and.. uhm…”

“You’re leaving the agency?” Courfeyrac guessed.

“Yeah. Once we’re back in Paris, I’ll talk to our agent.”

“Jehan said I should leave as well. He wants to push us in directions we’re not keen on, doesn’t he? I feel like he wants to make me into a sex-crazed you.”

Enjolras snorted and dropped a kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s head. “Yes. He wants me to run for men and women, which I’m fine with, happy, actually, but he’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.”

“Do you have someone in mind already?”

“No, not yet. I have to see if anyone wants me, though.”

“The agents will kill each other in order to get you signed.”

“Now you’re being dramatic.”

“What can I say, I’m an artist. Bisexual, at that. We tend to be drama queens.”

“That explains Grantaire’s entire being, I suppose,” Enjolras laughed. “I think I need to decide if I want to do more runway, more beauty, more photo, more magazine, more fashion… you know? And then I can find an agent based on that. someone who is specialised in it.”

“And I suppose you’d prefer doing photography so you can spend more time with Grantaire?”

“I don’t want my life to be ruled by my boyfriend. Or… whatever we are. I’m still my own person.”

Courfeyrac only hummed in acknowledgement, waiting for Enjolras to continue. By now he knew him well enough to know that more was to come, that Enjolras wasn’t done talking yet because he wasn’t done thinking.

“I like fashion photography because you can do so many crazy things and I love that. You can be unconventional and weird and crazy and you’ve got a bigger reach. Kids can see a black guy, more representation and all. That’s much better than Haute Couture, which doesn’t get as much recognition in the general public. And if I were a fashion model specialised in photography, I could give interviews! I could change people’s minds, maybe. But… God, I want to walk for Elie Saab. The dresses are gorgeous.”

“Don’t I know it,” Courfeyrac sighed wistfully. “So do it then. Become a photo model. Change the world! I’d love that. I’d love to see your face all over town and I’d love to read interviews and I want to see you become a star. I’ll take the runway world, you take the fashion photography world! We will conquer them!” 

Enjolras laughed. “Okay! We will do that. Does that mean I’ll have to go up against you when we both want to be in the shoots for Jean Prouvaire’s newest collection?” 

“Nah, I’ll get that job anyway. Though they said it themselves: there would be talk if their boyfriend would become the face of their collection. I mean… they said that. But… when we went back to their hotel after the party, it was… awkward? No, not awkward. We made out and fell asleep on the bed half clothed and satisfied and then we just… didn’t talk about the whole boyfriend thing anymore. Maybe it had just been a thing they said while drunk. Say boyfriend, mean fuckbuddy? Say boyfriend because that’s what the public will assume?”

“But you’ve talked to them since?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “We like each other’s posts on Instagram?”

“That’s not talking! Shoot them a message!”

“But what would I say? Hello, it’s Courfeyrac, you admitted to liking me and sucked my dick and had your ass eaten out by me, why didn’t you call, it’s been fifteen days?”

Enjolras snorted. “Just ask them how they’re doing?”

“That would be awkward. It has to be something grand! Something big, something that lets them know I care.”

“Let me guess: the longer you wait, the bigger and more excessive it has to be?”

“Yeah…” Courfeyrac sighed. “It’s a bit of a vicious circle.”

“How about you ask them if they’ll be at the fashion show in Geneva in February? Then you can talk about that. Wait… I think the line-up is already out. They’re there, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I already checked. So it would be weird to ask about it. I know they know I know they’re going and I know they know I know they know I’m going.”

“One of these days you’ll give me a headache,” Enjolras smiled fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s head.

“Orgasms are a good antidote for headaches. I’ll make sure to let Grantaire know about that.”

“Hush now,” Enjolras laughed.

He pulled Courfeyrac a little closer and rested his chin on the top of his head. Courfeyrac hummed contently and closed his eyes. He was excited for the photo shoot. Enjolras and him, dressed in nothing but their own skin, at the beach under the moonlight. It was for a perfume, but who exactly the target audience was, Courfeyrac couldn’t say. Perfume adverts were always a little… special. The photos still turned out stunningly and he was glad to have them in his portfolio.

Came February, Enjolras had already quit their agency. He had immediately been taken in by someone else and Courfeyrac was happy for his friend. He himself had decided to stay with his old agent, mainly so his run at the Fashion Week in Geneva wouldn’t be sacrificed as the contract was between the designer and the agency, not between the designer and Courfeyrac. He wanted to see Jehan and this was his best shot. Sure, he could just text them, but Courfeyrac was apprehensive. Maybe the whole thing on New Year’s Eve had just been a joke to them? Courfeyrac didn’t believe it and he usually wasn’t the type of person to shy away from flirting or a confrontation - but something was different about Jean Prouvaire. Something which made Courfeyrac highly aware of himself, his loud laugh, his tendencies for physical closeness even with strangers. He simply didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his crush. 

In his mind, he already knew how it was supposed to happen: Jehan would find their way to Courfeyrac, say something like “here, I brought you your coffee” (because they’d magically know his coffee order), their hands would brush, Jehan would blush and confess that they’d been too shy to contact Courfeyrac again out of fear of rejection. Courfeyrac’s own confession would follow suit and then they’d kiss. Enjolras, Grantaire and Combeferre would be there, too, cheering them on. They’d make the news that evening as the newest, cutest, hottest couple in the fashion world.

The reality was a lot more sobering. There were no lingering gazes, no magically attained coffee order, no confession, no kiss. The reality was stressful, hectic. Courfeyrac was busy preparing the show the entire day and barely had time to even eat something. Halfway through the first day, he’d been approached by another designer whose model had gotten sick, so that first evening, Courfeyrac ran two shows. He loved every second of it but it was the reason he hadn’t even seen Jehan. The second day he spent at another location, with another designer, somewhere where Jehan wasn’t even close.

He felt slightly defeated, exasperated and tired when he boarded the plane back to Paris that second evening. That’s what he got for living in his head too much, he supposed. Back home, he switched on his phone again, tossing it onto his bed before his much-needed shower. He came back to messages of Enjolras, congratulating him on making the news with his perfect run the second evening. Grantaire’s message simply contained a link. Curious, but slightly afraid, Courfeyrac clicked on it.

It was a BuzzFeed article about him. Well, not really about him, more about Jehan, their new collection, their models and all the praises they’d said about Courfeyrac. There were a lot of praises: about his walking style, his photogenic face and body, his kisses… Courfeyrac did a double-take on that one. Kisses? Yes, apparently Jehan had just told the world they’d made out on New Year’s Eve.

Courfeyrac took a screenshot of the article and sent it to Jehan in a private message on Instagram with a lot of question marks attached, then called Enjolras. His friend picked up the phone after the first ring, thankfully.

“I can’t believe they did that,” Courfeyrac immediately started.

“But isn’t it a good thing? Apparently they’re still thinking about it. About you and the kiss and how much they liked it. So… why is this bad?”

“We haven’t even talked about it! I would’ve liked a warning of some kind. Or just… just a talk,” Courfeyrac sighed.

Enjolras hummed softly. “I understand that, yes. Oh honey… it’ll work itself out, okay?”

“I have at least sent it to them, to let them know I’ve seen it.”

“Good. I wish I could be with you right now and hug you. Is Combeferre coming back this evening?”

“Yeah, he’s already boarded the plane. He can give me a hug in your stead then. Not the same, but his hugs are amazing as well. Now I’m going to sleep." 

“Okay,” Enjolras laughed lightly. “Grantaire says hi and that he loves you and that he’ll talk to Jehan if you’d want that.”

“That’s kind of him but I’ll decline that offer. I’m old enough to talk to them myself. Tell him I love him, too, will you? And I love you as well, sweetpea!”

“I love you, too. Thank you for being a fantastic friend.”

“Go to sleep now,” Enjolras laughed out loud. “Good night.”

“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let patriarchal values take away your basic human rights!”

Courfeyrac curled up in bed and played around on his phone for a while. Just before he’d planned on going to bed, Jehan texted him back.

[Jean_Prouvaire] i was so drunk i honestly dont fucking recall doing that i am so so so sorry it was not an on-the-record interview i was just so fucking frustrated w you

[Courfeyracrock] with me??? I didn’t do anything!

[Jean_Prouvaire] exactly! you never answered my calls or text messages!

[Courfeyracrock] ????? i never got any.

[Jean_Prouvaire] but this is the number you gave me

They attached a photo of a number hastily scrawled onto their arm as well as a screenshot of the number saved to their phone.

[Courfeyracrock] oh shit. that’s not my number. drunk me was apparently an idiot and gave you his old number. fuck. i can’t believe this! shit shit shit shit shit I’m so dumb and so sorry! I never wanted you to get frustrated by me

[Courfeyracrock] well maybe i want you to be frustrated by me while we’re having sex. If that’s still a thing you’re into

[Jean-Prouvaire] still very much into it but also kinda into the idea of just talking to you. can u give me ur new number so i can call?

Two minutes later, Courfeyrac grinned widely as the voice of Jehan carried over through his phone. 

“Hey you,” Jehan said softly. 

“Hey back at you. Fuck, I’m so sorry for everything. I was so confused and mad and upset that you’d just seemed to have forgotten about me.” 

“I was so mad that you lead me on and never answered my texts but still liked my Instagram posts. Too many mixed signals.”

“Here’s a clear signal for you: Jean Prouvaire, you’re gorgeous and fucking hot. But I want to get to know you. What you liked and dislike, how you take your coffee, what you morning routine is like, if you sleep on planes… I want to know every single bit and give this Us-thing a proper try.” 

Jehan sighed happily. “I want that, too. Where are you now?” 

“Back in Paris, in my flat. Similar timezone?”

“I just landed in Paris. Send me your address and I’ll be over?”

“I’m actually really tired, so if you don’t mind just kind of… napping?”

“You know, I think I’d really love to nap with you. Oh fuck, my cat! Can I bring my cat?”

“You have a cat? Yes! Definitely bring it!”

“I’ll take a cab to my flat, collect the kitten, and come straight to your place. Please don’t fall asleep in the meantime.”

Courfeyrac chuckled. “I promise I won’t. See you soon.”

Once they’d hung up, Courfeyrac quickly sent his address and then went about to clean up his flat as much as possible. He’d been back maybe three hours, but chaos had erupted the second he’d stepped into the apartment. Way too soon and still not soon enough, his doorbell rang. Courfeyrac was met with a face full of fluffy white kitten who let out a soft and confused “mwrap”, making him laugh. Lowering the cat, Jehan beamed at him. And this would be it, the moment where it would all change - once more. But now there was no uncertainty, no miscommunication, no confusion. All there was were Jehan’s soft lips on his.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr at [mariuspondmercy](http://mariuspondmercy.tumblr.com/)


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